I somehow manage to warm myself on his
damp, chilled bones. He has coiled blossom and must
nestle beside a knot
all happening at once
palms erasing prints of past lovers
after all – you’re a jasmine poet, you won’t harm your
other (better) girl by making love to me. A black stake
pushes into almost dawn, the blonde mansion at her
bull-ish desk remains very
very still (I’m waiting & why?). Plum shadows
calm dirty plates & beach pebbles scowl
at the cat. Burrowing into a new felt chest
elbow poised above a barren window, candlelight
remembers the dead man – a steel vault of tears – used and
shirtless inside warm, greek arms busy
peeling the membrane from a honey jar. Makes a man
weep to watch his little lady pushing
two chairs together by the clementine pit
.
Blossom Hibbert
*christopher middleton – five psalms of common man
.